The sieur Ledoux--The _lettre de cachet_--The duc de la
Vrillière--Madame de Langeac--M. de Maupeou--Louis XV--The
comte Jean
On that very evening, the king having come to me, I said to him,
“Sire, I have made acquaintance with M. de Sartines.”
“What! has he been to make friends with you?”
“Something like it: but he has appeared to me less culpable than I
thought. He had only yielded to the solicitation of my personal enemy.”
“You cannot have one at my court, madame; the lieutenant of police would
have done well not to have named her to you.”
“Thanks to him, however, I shall now know whom I ought to mistrust. I
know also who is the author of the two scurrilous paragraphs.”
“Some scamp, no doubt; some beggarly scoundrel.”
“A monsieur Ledoux.”
“Ah, I know the fellow. His bad reputation has reached me. It must be
stopped at last.”
So saying, Louis XV went to the chimney, and pulled the bell-rope with
so much vehemence that ten persons answered it at once.
“Send for the duc de la Vrillière; if he be not suitably attired let him
come in his night-gown, no matter so that he appear quickly.”
On hearing an order given in this manner a stranger might have supposed
the king crazy, and not intent on imprisoning a miserable libeller. I
interceded in his favor, but Louis XV, delighted at an opportunity
of playing the king at a small cost, told me that it was no person’s
business, and he would be dictated to by no one. I was silent, reserving
myself until another opportunity when I could undertake the defence of
the poor devil.
The duc de la Vrillière arrived, not in a dressing-gown, as the king
had authorized, but in magnificent costume. He piqued himself on his
expenditure, and always appeared superbly attired, altho’ the splendor
of his apparel could not conceal the meanness of his look. He was the
oldest secretary of state, and certainly was the least skilful, least
esteemed, least considered. Some time after his death some one said of
him in the presence of the duc d’Ayen, that he had been an unfortunate
man, for he had been all his life the butt of public hatred and
universal contempt. “Rather say,” replied the duke, “that he has been a
fortunate man; for if justice had been rendered to him according to his
deserts, he would have been hanged at least a dozen times.”
The duc d’Ayen was right: M. de la Vrillière was a brazen-faced rogue;
a complete thief, without dignity, character, or heart. His cupidity
was boundless: the _lettres de cachet_ emanated from his office, and he
carried on an execrable trade in them. If any person wished to get rid
of a father, brother, or husband, they only had to apply to M. de la
Vrillière. He sold the king’s signature to all who paid ready money for
it. This man inspired me with an invincible horror and repugnance. For
his part, as I was not disgusting, he contented himself with hating me;
he was animated against me by his old and avaricious mistress, madame
de Langeac, alias Subutin. Langeac could not endure me. She felt that
it was better to be the mistress of Louis XV than that of the _petit la
Vrillière _, for so her lover was called at court. I knew that she was
no friend of mine, and that her lover sided with the Choiseuls against
me; and was consequently the more delighted to see the little scoundrel
come to receive the order for avenging me. He entered with an air of
embarrassment; and whilst he made me a salute as low as to the king,
this latter, in a brief severe tone, ordered him to send the sieur
Ledoux to Saint Lazare forthwith. He departed without reply, and half an
hour afterwards returned, to say that it was done. The king then said to
him,
“Do you know this lady?”
“No, sire.”
“Well, I desire you henceforward to have the greatest consideration for
her as my best friend, and whoever wishes to prove his zeal for me, will
honor and cherish her.”
The king then invited him to sup with us, and I am sure that during the
whole repast I was the hardest morsel he had to digest.
Some days afterwards I made acquaintance with a person much more
important than the little duke, and destined to play a great part in the
history of France. I mean M. de Maupeou, the late chancellor, who, in
his disgrace, would not resign his charge. M. de Maupeou possessed one
of those firm and superior minds, which, in spite of all obstacles,
change the face of empires. Ardent, yet cool; bold, but reflective; the
clamors of the populace did not astonish, nor did any obstacles arrest
him. He went on in the direct path which his will chalked out. Quitting
the magistracy, he became its most implacable enemy, and after a deadly
combat he came off conqueror. He felt that the moment had arrived for
freeing royalty from the chains which it had imposed on itself. It was
necessary, he has said to me a hundred times, for the kings of France
in past ages to have a popular power on which they could rely for the
overturning of the feudal power. This power they found in the high
magistracy; but since the reign of Louis XIII the mission of the
parliaments had finished, the nobility was reduced, and they became no
less formidable than the enemy whom they had aided in subduing.
“Before fifty years,” pursued M. de Maupeou, “kings will be nothing in
France, and parliaments will be everything.”
Talented, a good speaker, even eloquent, M. de Maupeou possessed
qualities which made the greatest enterprises successful. He was
convinced that all men have their price, and that it is only to find
out the sum at which they are purchasable.* As brave personally as a
maréchal of France, his enemies (and he had many) called him a coarse
and quarrelsome man. Hated by all, he despised men in a body, and jeered
at them individually; but little sensible to the charms of our sex, he
only thought of us by freaks, and as a means of relaxation. This is M.
de Maupeou, painted to the life. As for his person, you know it as well
as I do. I have no need to tell you, that he was little, ugly, and his
complexion was yellow, bordering upon green. It must be owned, however,
that his face, full of thought and intelligence, fully compensated for
all the rest.
*This gentleman would have been an able coadjutor for Sir
Robert Walpole.--Trans.
You know how, as first president of the parliament of Paris, he
succeeded his father as vice-chancellor. At the resignation of the
titular M. de Lamoignon*, the elder Maupeou received his letters of
nomination, and as soon as they were registered, he resigned in favor of
his son. The Choiseuls had allowed the latter to be nominated, relying
on finding him a creature. I soon saw that the Choiseuls were mistaken.
*In September, 1768. (au.)
It was in the month of October, that Henriette, always my favorite, came
to me with an air of unusual mystery, to say, that a black* and ugly
gentleman wished to see me; that on the usual reply that I was not
visible, he had insisted, and sent, at the same time, a cautiously
sealed note. I took it, opened, and read these words:--
*i.e., black-haired and/or dressed in black (Gutenberg ed.)
“The chancellor of France wishes to have the honor of presenting his
respectful homage to madame la comtesse du Barry.”
“Let him come in,” I said to Henriette.
“I will lay a wager, madame, that he comes to ask some favor.”
“I believe,” replied I, “that he is more frequently the solicited than
the solicitor.”
Henriette went out, and in a few minutes led in, thro’ the private
corridors which communicated with my apartment, his highness monseigneur
Rene Nicolas Charles Augustin de Maupeou, chevalier and chancellor of
France. As soon as he entered I conceived a good opinion of him, altho’
I had only seen him walk. His step was firm and assured, like that of a
man confident in the resources of his own talents.
“Madame la comtesse du Barry,” he said, “would have a right to complain
of me, if I did not come and lay my person at her feet. I had the more
impatience to express to her my devotion, as I feared she had been
prejudiced against me.”
“How, monseigneur?”
“The gate by which I entered the ministry--”
“Is not agreeable to me, as being that of my enemies, but I feel assured
that you will not side with them against me.”
“Certainly not, madame; it is my wish to give you pleasure in every
thing, and I flatter myself I may merit your friendship.”
After many other compliments, the Chancellor asked me, with much
familiarity, when my presentation was to take place, and why it had
not yet occurred. I replied, that the delay arose from the intrigues
of Choiseul, and the king shrunk from the discontent of a handful of
courtiers.
“I am sorry for it,” said M. de Maupeou; “in the first place, madame,
because of the interest I take in you, and also because for his majesty,
it would be a means of striking terror into the opposing party. You
know, madame, how annoying parliaments are to all your friends, and
with what bitterness those of Bretagne and Paris, at this moment, are
pursuing the duc d’Aiguillon.”
“Do you think,” I replied with emotion, “that matters are unfavorable
towards him?”
“I hope not, but he must be warmly supported.”
“Ah! I will aid him with all my influence. He is no doubt innocent of
the crimes imputed to him.”
“Yes, certainly. He has done no other wrong than to defend the authority
of the crown against the enmity of the parliaments.”
We continued some time to talk of parliaments and parliament men: then
we agreed that M. de Maupeou should see me again, accompanied by the duc
d’Aiguillon, who should have the credit of presenting him, and he left
me with as much mystery as he had entered.
When the king came to see me, I said to him, “I have made acquaintance
with your chancellor: he is a very amiable man, and I hope that he will
not conduct himself improperly towards me.”
“Where did you see him?”
“Here, sire, and but a short time since.”
“He came then to visit you?”
“Yes, in person, that he might obtain the favor of being permitted to
pay his court to me.”
“Really what you tell me seems perfectly unaccountable. He has then
burst from the hands of the Choiseuls? It is amusing. Poor Choiseul,
when soliciting for Maupeou, he most tremendously deceived himself.”
“At least, sire, you must own that he has given you no fool.”
“True. The chancellor is a man full of talents, and I do not doubt but
that he will restore to my crown that power which circumstances have
deprived it of. However, if you see him familiarly, advise him not to
persuade me to extreme measures. I wish all should work for the best,
without violent courses and without painful struggles.”
These last words proved to me the natural timidity of the king.
“I knew very well,” added the king, “that Maupeou would not prove a man
for the Choiseuls. The main point is, that he should be mine, and I am
content.”
Louis XV was then satisfied with the chancellor, but he was not equally
so with the comte Jean.
“I do not like,” said he to me, “your Du Barry monkey. He is a
treacherous fellow, who has betrayed his party, and I hope some of these
mornings we shall hear that the devil has wrung his neck.”